


Above Us Only Sky

by CaptainLeBubbles



Series: Maybe You're Here Because You Don't Fit In Anywhere Else (Rollercoaster HSAU) [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine, if you will, three children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Above Us Only Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get in some backstory about the previous generation in Rollercoaster and some insight into our two main dads.
> 
> Still having trouble with the next chapter of the main narrative. Dr. Grey is being uncooperative.

o/o

*

Imagine, if you will, a very small boy.

Imagine that this boy is playing in a sandbox, and imagine, now, another boy, one much bigger and much meaner, is approaching him. Imagine that this bigger boy stomps on the sand structure that the smaller boy has spent the better part of an hour creating, and now, imagine, the smaller boy is crying.

Imagine a third boy. He is somewhere between the two boys in size, closer to the smallest, yet imagine, now, that he carries himself as though he were bigger.

Imagine that he pushes the larger boy away; imagine that he kicks sand on the boy and orders him to leave before he does worse.

Imagine that the larger boy does, because he is not used to victims who fight back.

Imagine the two remaining boys join together to restore the structure the smaller boy had built.

Now imagine that this is only the beginning of a friendship that will last for a very long time.

*

Fast forward.

Imagine the boys older. Still young, but with a much greater understanding of the world now they have reached the ripe old age of seven.

Imagine, if you will, a girl. Imagine that she has pigtails, that her knees are scabbed under dirty bandaids and that her eyes are hidden behind sunglasses with plastic rhinestones on them. Imagine her at a swingset, hurling verbal abuse at a boy who saw fit to dispute her claim to the highest swing. Imagine the boy laughs, and swings higher, ignoring her.

Imagine that this boy is our hero from the first scenario.

It is a terrible first impression.

*

Fast forward.

Imagine our three children are older once more. Older, yes, and wiser- at nine, they look back on their seven-year-old selves and scoff over the wisdom they thought they held.

Imagine that they have become friends. That they have pushed past their terrible first impression onto a better understanding and acceptance of one another. Or, more accurately, imagine that the playful rivalry between the girl and the bigger boy has become something very much like friendship, and that both share a mutual protectiveness of their smaller friend, who sometimes comes to school with bruises that he has inconsistent explanations for and flinches when people raise their voice suddenly.

Imagine the three at an aquarium on a school trip, gathered around the glass far too close. Imagine the teacher calling them away, that it is time to leave.

Imagine the two larger children taking the hands of the third one between them, offering no words because they have none, because the boy dreads going home and they know that there is nothing in their power to do.

*

Fast forward.

Imagine our children older. Fourteen is so much more than nine, and what they know now has left what they knew then in the dust. We are not children anymore, they say. We understand, now.

Imagine our bigger boy sat at his desk, building a model airplane because military vehicles interest him. Imagine that he looks up, upon hearing the sound of a knock at his window, and opens it to find the smaller boy outside. Imagine the smaller boy has a black eye, and that his lip is cut and bleeding, and that he is wearing only his pajamas.

Imagine that the boy lets him in, and that he stays. That he hides in his friend's room for three days before swapping to the girl's house, because his friend's parents are getting suspicious. Imagine that this goes on for the rest of the summer, until their parents find out and things go south.

*

Fast forward.

Imagine our children are not children anymore. Imagine that they have become adults.

Imagine the girl, a woman now. Blonde hair kept in a ponytail. Scars decorate her face, her arms; she has a tattoo curling around one shoulder. She laughs like she has the world. She rides a motorcycle. She wants to do something important.

Imagine the larger boy, a man now. Shoulders broad, muscles toned. Deeply tanned by farmwork; a voice that gives commands as easily as breathing. He shouts and knows that others listen. He likes machines. He likes weapons. He wants to build things.

Imagine the smaller boy, also a man. Less small, more compact. A wiry frame, tattoos that twist around his body and cover the scars he is not proud of. He doesn't flinch at raised voices anymore. He knows how to throw a punch. He wants to take care of people.

Imagine they decide to enlist. They talk about it; with each other, with their families, with the local recruiters. They all have their reasons, their ambitions, their goals. They know it will not be easy. They know they will not be able to stay together. That doesn't matter to them. They have shared everything of their lives since they were small; this, this new thing, is merely another to add to the list.

Imagine they enlist.

*

Fast forward.

Imagine our children, all grown up. Imagine that the years have been less than kind to them, but still more kind than to others. Imagine they have scars now: their past etched into their skin. Some of these scars they wear with pride and others they cover with new tattoos.

But imagine that they are proud. They have done great things: not always good, but still great. They have helped. They have hurt. They have brought destruction and aid and security in various ways. They are not the same children they were, when we first met them but, imagine now, that there, deep inside them, they are.

Imagine that little girl with the scabs on her knees hurling abuse at a boy who took what was hers.

Imagine that fearless little boy, who marched up to a bully to protect a stranger who couldn't protect himself.

Imagine that small boy with the strength to survive a bad situation, and the strength to get out of it.

Imagine them on the field of battle, covering the retreat of their squad.

Imagine a bullet, fired at random, sent out with no hope of actually hitting anything.

*

Fast forward.

Imagine a funeral.

Imagine two men at this funeral for the woman who was once a scabby-kneed girl who hurled abuse at a boy who stole her swing. A girl who loved vehicles and decorated herself with tattoos and wanted to do something important, who _did_ do something important.

Imagine a trio, cut down to two.

*

Imagine two men. One small, wiry, smiles and gentle laughs until he steps into battle and then falls silent: efficient, ruthless, and creatively cruel when needs must. One taller, broad and muscular, cruel words that fall from his lips easily and hold no meaning, hard eyes and steel in his voice but always, ever, a gentleness of its own kind: what is his, he protects, and he will not falter in this.

Imagine they have retired. They have been discharged back into civilian life, and have returned to the town they grew up in, where they were once a small boy and a smaller boy and a girl with scabby knees.

Imagine their lives have twisted them: imagine that they are no longer the men they were once. Imagine that one has become too closed off, too detached, and that the other has become too friendly and open.

Imagine, now, a boy. Short, chubby; lazy and sloppy and spitting his own form of defiance at the world but, imagine: within him is that same fierce devotion that made the man he will learn is his father march to war and risk his life for people he had never met.

Imagine another boy. Even smaller and little more than skin and bones. A layer of sarcasm to protect an otherwise friendly boy underneath. Life has not been kind to him but he pushes on, because he is stubborn and because he will not let life kick his ass without a fight.

Neither man has ever been a father, but both boys need them.

Just imagine how this will go.

*

o/o

**Author's Note:**

> Not one hundred percent satisfied with that ending. Hrm. :/
> 
> Also: writing without names is hard, but I didn't want to name the other two since that would require me to give a name to Sarge too.


End file.
